


someday (i'll have you beggin' on your knees for me)

by trash king murphamy (blackmaggiecat)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmaggiecat/pseuds/trash%20king%20murphamy
Summary: "I owe you one. If you need a favor, feel free to call. Tell them Jonathan sent you."
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the au in which murphy is a prostitute and bellamy is a simpleton





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueparacosm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueparacosm/gifts).



Bellamy Blake considered himself a fairly simple guy.

He had a small apartment on the North Side of the city. He had no parents, but he had a younger sister named Octavia who was at boarding school on some crazy soccer scholarship. He was in college studying architecture. He had a cat named Echo, and two fish. Every weekday afternoon, he worked at the bakery down the street, and every other day he worked at the ticket booth of the local movie theater. After work, he would go to a bar and drink with his friends.

On days he felt excited or inspired, he’d go to the rock climbing gym downtown and meet up with his friends to climb rocks and smoke weed, or go to gay bars with his friend Miller and Miller’s boyfriend, Bryan. He was, to nearly the definition of the word, unextraordinary.

The day that he would meet John Murphy was an inspired day for Bellamy, so he had spent the day watching _That 70's Show_ and then called up Bryan and Miller to see if they wanted to go out, which they always did.

The location for the night was called ‘The Spade Club’, which Bellamy had taken no time to point out was possibly the dumbest name for a gay bar in the history of gay bars, to which Bryan had rolled his eyes and reminded Bellamy that the name hardly mattered, did it?

They had stayed out fairly late, by Bellamy’s standard. He had a few drinks, but had learned quite a while ago to never try to keep up with Miller and Bryan, who had enough alcohol in their combined systems to intoxicate a Tyrannosaurus. When Bellamy left them, Miller had been poking at Bryan’s cheek and marveling at how it ‘changed color’, an issue he decided not to press.

He was drunk enough that he took an Uber, which took the world’s most roundabout route but he was just drunk enough to not protest too much, instead just shooting the driver a dirty look and hauling ass up three flights of stairs to his apartment.

He was heading over to it when he heard a commotion in a room a few doors down: what sounded like a cry of pain, and some shouting.

Usually, Bellamy wasn’t a nosy person. He mostly minded his own business. But when the door to said room flew open and a shirtless figure was shoved out, it kind of became the business of everyone in the hallway which, coincidentally, was only Bellamy.

The figure stumbles backwards a few faces before slamming into the wall. Though he couldn’t see much of the person from the angle he was at, he could tell it was a boy, in his early twenties at the oldest, with a shaggy mop of brown hair and a pale, scarred torso. The boy took less than a second to regain his composure before hopping back onto his feet, banging on the door that had been shut once again.

“Open the fucking door, Titus!” he shouted, stopping banging only long enough for his words to be heard, “You still owe me fifty bucks, you slimy bastard!”

“Like hell!” an older sounding, deeper voice responded, “I’m not paying you shit, and you can tell Jaha that I won’t be coming to you anymore!”

The boy’s expression turned murderous. “You fucking… OPEN THE FUCK UP!” the boy banged harder, but the door remained shut.

“OPEN UP, YOU SCUMBAG PIECE OF SHIT!” the boy demanded, ceasing his banging in favor of flat out kicking the door. Bellamy could have laughed at his childish appearance, kicking angrily on the door, if it weren’t for the fact that it was sort of disturbing.

“If you don’t stop banging, I’ll call the police!” the tenant responded, and the boy downright _growled_ as he gave the door one last pound before falling to the ground against the wall.

The boy raked his hands through his hair. “Son of a bitch,” Bellamy heard him mumble in the most angry-yet-defeated voice he could probably muster.

Bellamy knew he probably shouldn’t intrude, be he also knew two things: one, the boy was blocking his path to his apartment, and there would be no way to maneuver his enormous, drunken self around the boy without making it awkward. Secondly, if that was the boy’s place to sleep, then he would be sleeping in the gutter that night.

So he supposed that was why, as if pulled by some magnetizing force, Bellamy felt himself walking directly toward the figure leaning against the wall.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” he asked, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the boy, instead shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn-out jeans.

The boy scoffed, shaking his head. “The hell do you think?”

Bellamy shrugged before realizing the boys eyes were still on the ground. “I guess not.” He sat there for a moment, shifting foot to foot, before adding “You got a place to stay?”

The boy laughed, a sharp, defeated sound with no humor in it. “Don’t I always.”

Bellamy wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but shook it off.

“Do you have a ride to wherever you’re going?” he asked, sort of shocking himself with the action. He didn’t know why he was offering so much; the boy had pretty much dismissed him. He figured it was a combination of the fact that he was hammered, the boy was cute, and that he knew what it felt like to have to sleep on the streets.

The boy finally looked up, and Bellamy got a better look at his face, all harsh angle and wide-set blue eyes that, despite the charming smirk creeping onto his face, were somehow empty as he asked “Why, you lookin’ to by something from me?”

Bellamy’s brow furrowed in confusion. He wondered if this was something sober Bellamy would understand better.

“I…uh… No?” Bellamy replied, none to eloquently. “I’ll just…” He made some useless hand movements and began to walk off, but a pale hand shot out and grabbed his arm.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” the boy said quietly, smirk gone, “I just… do you think I could borrow a shirt?”

Against his better judgement, Bellamy nodded. The boy gave him a small smile, accepting a hand up and following Bellamy the rest of the way down the hall to his apartment.


End file.
